


Making a Play

by Ralkana



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agent Ward appears but does not have a speaking role, Early Days, Hidden meanings, Insecure Phil, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash, Team Dynamics, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've done a great job with Barton," Garrett offers, and Phil is starting to really wonder what John is buttering him up for when the other man slaps him companionably on the shoulder. "I'll take it from here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mapleandmahogany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapleandmahogany/gifts).



> Disclaimer ~ They are Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing with them.
> 
> For mapleandmahogany, who shared her headcanons and inspired it. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> For my Trope Bingo Round 3 _Fork in the Road_ square.
> 
> **Timeline ~ Between 5 and 10 years prior to Thor.**
> 
> There are no Agents of SHIELD spoilers in this story, though it has a completely different tone if you are completely caught up. I cannot guarantee there won't be spoilers in the comments, so beware!

 

The mission, for once, goes as planned. The objective is achieved, Barton takes the shot, extraction goes flawlessly, and no one ends up in Medical.

Phil steps up beside Barton as he's breaking down and and inspecting his equipment, brow furrowed in concentration as he studies his bow.

"Good job, Barton," he says sincerely, and Clint glances up, a small, pleased smile on his face.

"Thank you, sir," he says, and Phil nods, letting him get back to his work as Phil sorts through his own gear and files.

There is a brief knock on the open door adjoining their hotel room to the next, and then it swings wide. John Garrett strides in, all smiles. His two man team is here for backup, but they were, thankfully, not needed.

He slaps Barton on the back. "Hey, man, that was a hell of a shot. Pretty impressive!"

The smile Barton flashes him is a lot brighter than the little one Phil got, and Phil swallows and looks away, telling himself not to be ridiculous.

"Thanks, sir," Barton says, and Garrett scoffs.

"Come on, Barton, don't call me sir, not after a shot like that! Garrett, all right?"

Phil glances up to see Barton nod, and Garrett grins at him and then winks at Phil.

"Hey, listen, me and the kid are gonna grab a beer," he says, pointing back into the room he's sharing with his young specialist, Agent Ward. "You gotta celebrate a successful mission, y'know? You're comin', right?"

Phil doesn't miss the way Barton glances briefly at him before looking back at Garrett.

"Sure," he says after a moment. "Sounds good."

Garrett beams at him and throws an arm around his shoulder. Clint freezes momentarily, and then relaxes.

"Great," Garrett says, steering Clint toward his room. "We'll pick up Ward and head out."

Clint hangs back for a second, glancing at Phil. "You coming, sir?"

Garrett chuckles. "Nah, Coulson never hangs out with the guys. He's too good for us."

Phil, who had opened his mouth to politely decline, finds himself doing just the opposite. "Why not, I could use a drink."

Barton grins, and Garrett's eyes widen in surprise.

"Well, whaddaya know," Garrett says, amused, knocking his shoulder companionably against Clint's. "Maybe we'll even get him to take that damn tie off."

He laughs when Phil raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

They end up at a local bar a couple of blocks from their hotel. It's full of tourists, but the four SHIELD agents all very capable of blending in with the locals, anywhere they go.

They sit around a sticky table in the dark room, picking through a basket of appetizers and drinking the strong local beer, mostly listening as Garrett spins yarn after yarn.

Phil leans back, bottle in hand, suit jacket on but tie left behind -- _it's just to blend better, thanks very much, John_ , he thinks -- and his top two buttons undone. He lets Garrett talk uninterrupted, even though he was there for half of these missions, and he remembers them a little differently than John apparently does.

Garrett's specialist Ward is quiet and serious, occasionally cracking a small smile at some of John's more outlandish tales, but clearly hanging on the man's every word, his dark eyes focused on his S.O.. Barton, on the other hand, is all grins, shaking his head and bubbling over with laughter, every once in a while calling Garrett on his bullshit, which makes Garrett laugh and raise his glass in a mocking toast when he's caught out.

"I need another beer if you expect me to buy that story," Clint says wryly, and Garrett grins.

Gently shouldering Ward, Clint climbs to his feet. "C'mon, man, let's go get another round."

With a respectful nod for Phil and Garrett, Ward gets up and follows, and Phil watches them as they cross the room. His lips curve into a fond smile at the sight. He probably shouldn't be watching Clint's ass in those jeans so openly, but a few beers have made him a lot less circumspect than usual.

"He's a great kid," John says, and Phil rolls his eyes -- Barton's not _that_ much younger than they are -- and then he looks at his old training buddy. Garrett is watching them too, though a little less hungrily. Not _much_ less, though, it occurs to Phil, who hums noncommittally, wondering what Garrett's angle is.

"He's made quite a name for himself," Garrett adds, and Phil nods, because it's true. Once Clint had settled in and stopped fighting _everyone_ , he flourished, and Phil likes to think he had some small part in that.

"He's a very capable agent," he says mildly, watching Clint at the bar as he laughs, talking with his hands again. Phil wonders what story accompanies that wild gesticulating -- even stoic Agent Ward is smiling as he listens.

"You've done a great job with him," Garrett offers, and Phil is starting to really wonder what John is buttering him up for when the other man slaps him companionably on the shoulder. "I'll take it from here."

Phil raises an eyebrow at him, because what?

Garrett grins. "Thanks for training him up, Philly, but you know, I've been watching him, and I think he'd be a great fit with me and my boys. And you know specialists benefit from training with several different S.O.s -- learn different styles and skillsets, different techniques. Why don't you let me have a turn with him?" he says with a wink. "Show him how the other half lives. Bet he'd love a change, a little more excitement."

The snarling possessiveness that rises up in Phil is completely unprofessional. He knows it, and yet he can't help himself. He swallows it down with a sip of beer, and forces himself to calmly say, "Switching S.O.s is a decision made by both S.O. and specialist, Garrett, and I think you'll find Barton is perfectly happy where he is."

"We'll see about that," Garrett says with another grin, pure challenge in his voice.

Phil refuses to rise to it, knowing where this is all coming from. John Garrett is a great guy, an excellent agent, and a very good training agent, but he's also a blowhard. He's been indulging in 'friendly' competition with Phil since they were both green rookies under Nick, hating the way Phil's quiet competence won the man's respect far more quickly than Garrett's showy methods and incredible stories.

Barton is a flashy asset, a rising star. Smart, and capable, and flourishing, he soaks up knowledge and attention like a sponge. Garrett wants that for himself.

Phil would like to believe his own confident words, that Clint is happy where he is -- he's certainly done well under Phil's supervision -- but he watches Barton carefully as he and Ward return with another round of beers.

He smiles at Phil as he hands Phil a bottle, but Phil can't help but think of it as nothing more than polite, nothing like the grin he gives Garrett, or even the one he shoots Ward's way, and Phil wonders.

It stays on his mind the rest of the evening, and as they return to their hotel. He and Barton move around each other easily and quietly, exchanging smiles when they happen to catch each other's eye. Phil thinks it's nice, comfortable, but he wonders what Barton thinks of it.

He wonders if Garrett and Ward are talking next door, laughing as they toss wet towels and discarded gear at each other, the way he and Garrett used to do in the academy and on their first missions together. He imagines Barton in Ward's place, thinks of them trading jibes and locker room boasts, knows that Clint would laugh at John's ridiculous pranks, and he wonders, really _wonders_ , what Clint will say when Garrett asks.

Between wrapping up the details of their mission and getting their teams out of town, he's nearly put it out of his mind by the time they climb out of the transport the following afternoon. It's instantly brought back, however, by the handshake and shoulder slap Garrett offers Barton as they all part ways.

"Hey, listen, man, you free to grab a beer tomorrow night? There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

The way Clint goes still is _almost_ unnoticeable, but they are all very well trained at noticing things. Garrett carefully removes his hand. Ward, standing behind Garrett, glances back and forth between Garrett and Barton, brow furrowing slightly.

"Or we could meet in the commissary for a cup of coffee. There's no pressure, kid, I swear."

Barton glances at Phil, who makes sure to keep his face schooled into nothing more than mild interest, and then he shrugs. "Yeah, okay. I'm free tomorrow night, we could grab a beer, I guess."

"Great," Garrett says with a charming smile. "I'll call you tomorrow. 'Til next time, Coulson," he says with a lazy two finger salute, winking as he turns to leave, body angled so that only Phil sees it, and not Clint.

"What was that about?" Clint asks, puzzled, as Garrett and Ward stride away, and Phil smiles reassuringly at him.

"With Garrett, one never knows," he says wryly. "But don't call me when you're looking for bail."

Clint laughs as he shoulders his gear. "Have a good weekend, sir."

"You too, Barton," he says, watching the other man walk away and wondering once more if this will be the last time they work together.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Phil's weekend is terrible.

He spends the greater part of it fretting over Clint Barton.

He wants to believe that he's built a good enough rapport with Barton -- they get along well, and they work together fluidly, and he knows he's earned Clint's respect by listening to him, trusting him, and letting him do his job.

Phil knows what most of SHIELD thinks of Agent Coulson, however. The senior agents call him dependable and efficient. The junior agents and his peers -- especially those that have never worked with him -- call him boring and methodical. There is little glory in the way he does his job, and that's the way he likes it.

But Clint is younger, and he craves attention. He's a showman at heart -- he was in the circus for God's sake -- and Phil doesn't know if quiet respect can compete with laughter and boastful camaraderie, with slaps on the back and nights out with the guys.

It shouldn't eat at him this way, he knows. Specialists switch S.O.s all the time. Just because _he_ stuck with Nick the whole way and still considers him a mentor doesn't mean that he's failed if Clint chooses to work with Garrett. It shouldn't feel like a betrayal to think of it, and he shouldn't feel hollow inside at the thought of hearing some other specialist's voice in his ear next time out, rather than Barton's wiseass snark.

All this means he's gotten too close, and that's dangerous.

By Monday morning, he's (nearly) convinced himself that Clint working with Garrett is a good thing. He needs some distance, he tells himself as he stares blearily at his computer monitor, several mostly sleepless nights fogging his brain.

He needs to get started on his work, but he doesn't want to open his email, knowing that Barton's transfer paperwork will be waiting for him.

There is a perfunctory knock on his half-open office door, and by the time he glances up, Barton is shambling in, eyes at half-mast as he nods a hello at Phil, who blinks at him in surprise. Clint drops onto his customary end of the couch, sprawling out and then slurping at a large to-go cup of coffee and then yawning widely, just as he does every morning.

"Hey, boss," he mutters before diving back into his coffee.

"Morning," Phil says back automatically, still surprised at his appearance. He opens his email and stares at the lack of transfer paperwork.

They must not have talked yet, he realizes. He clears his throat.

"I believe Agent Garrett would like a word with you when you have a moment, Barton."

Clint looks over at him, a little more awake now. He holds Phil's gaze for a moment and then looks down, fiddling with his coffee cup.

"We, um, we already talked. Saturday, sir."

Phil frowns at him in incomprehension, and Clint reflexively hunches his shoulders and then takes a deep breath and looks straight at Phil.

"I told him I was grateful to him for the offer, but that I'm... I already have an S.O., sir."

Before Phil can even begin to process his words, Clint freezes, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. His gaze darts away.

"I mean, unless you asked him -- um, if you want me to -- with him, I -- "

"No," Phil blurts, startling him into silence. He raises wide eyes to Phil's.

"No," Phil says again, calmly this time. "I've... enjoyed working with you, Agent Barton -- Clint -- and I'd be happy to continue doing so."

A tiny, rational part of his brain tries to remind him of the distance he'd been so sure he needed five minutes ago, but that little voice fades into silence at the sight of Clint's small, pleased smile. Now, away from Garrett's neverending noise, Phil can see that smile for what it is -- genuine, rather than polite or merely courteous, the sight of it warms something in him.

But his agent's well being comes before his own, always.

"I don't want you to feel obligated, Barton, to stay under my supervision. Plenty of specialists -- "

"I'm not," Clint says instantly. He looks down at his coffee cup, shrugging. "I swear. Listen, Agent Garrett's a good guy, and a great agent, sir, but I don't know him, and when I get myself into shit I can't get out of, I need more than bullshit to get me out of it. I know you've got my back."

When he raises his gaze to Phil's, Phil is blown away by the look in his eyes -- the absolute trust, and warmth, and something Phil is going to call affection, because calling it anything else is a fool's game.

_Or is it,_ he thinks, still floored by that look in those beautiful eyes, but he shoves that thought down, something to contemplate later. Much later. For now, he simply smiles at Clint.

"Thank you," he says, grateful his voice comes out steady. "Now get your feet off my couch, Barton."

Barton grins at him and complies, and they get to work.

**END**


End file.
